No Shades of Grey
by EverythingGoodIsAlreadyTaken
Summary: Fresh out of school, with a new job, Ana's future is looking bright. That is, until the mysterious Mr. Grey shows her a much darker, surprisingly seductive one. It's fun to push the boundaries between right and wrong, black and white, but when the devil has the face of an angel will Ana be able to resist crossing them? Or will Christian pull her into the blackness completely?
1. Chapter 1

1

"Are you okay?" A man's voice asks. It takes me a moment to catch my breath as I lay on the cool hardwood floor, eyes shut tightly.

It's my first day. First day! And already, fifteen minutes in, I've embarrassed myself by face planting in front of the entire office. I knew I shouldn't have tried to wear new heels. Kate had convinced me they would help me look more professional.

All I had to do was was follow Claire's directions to my desk, sit down, and review today's schedule. But instead my ankle had to rebel and give way, leaving me sprawled on the floor. My first "grown-up" job, and already I've proven I'm not even competent at walking.

Yeah, I look _so_ professional.

"Ana?" The man's voice says with concern. I finally open my eyes to face my coworkers and see Mr. Hyde's dark blue ones looking down at me.

"I'm okay." I say as Mr. Hyde takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. "Physics has always had it out for me. It's why I prefer literature."

"Well," he laughs and pats me on the back. "We're all very happy for that, but see if you can call a truce for now. I need you conscious. I didn't hire you just for that pretty face."

I can feel a flush warm my cheeks and hope Mr. Hyde doesn't notice.

"Of course, Mr. Hyde," I say quickly as I scurry to pick up the red folder containing today's projects, grabbing at a few papers that went flying when I did.

"Why don't you just call me Jack, Ana."

"Y-yes, sir-I mean, Jack." I stutter, attempting to reorganize the papers in my hand.

I assume you've already spoken with Kelly in HR about all your contract information?"

"Yes si-Jack," I say, catching myself. Jack smirks at me.

"And Claire has already given you a quick rundown of today's activities and the office procedures, I'm hoping." He continues. "I'm sorry to just throw you into the fray, but your duties won't consist of much more than what Liz and I discussed with you at your interview. You'll mostly be in charge of organizing my schedule, keeping track of deadlines, acting as my manuscript gatekeeper, and of course the occasional coffee run." He winks at me.

"Do you prefer Starbucks or Seattle's Best?" I ask him, grinning back.

"Detail oriented, I like that." Jack laughs. "And I prefer the independent shop at the end of the block. Double espresso. Now, I think that covers all the basics. So what's on the roster for today?" He nods to the file in my hand.

"Well," I say, shuffling through the papers to find today's schedule. "It looks like the first thing you have today is a meeting with Carl Johnson to go over the acquisitions budget. Then about 11:00 am you should be expecting a call from a Mr. Boyce Fox, he has a new book he wants to pitch you. Then after lunch you have another meeting with a GEH?"

There's nothing else written by the appointment, and I look up at Jack quizzically. His jaw tenses at the mention of GEH.

"Hmm," he grunts, offering no further information. The sour look on his face tells me it's probably best not to ask. "Anything else?"

"Uh, well, it seems after GEH the afternoon has been blocked out for something marked 'Slush Pile'."

"Oh, those are the unsolicited queries we receive." He clarifies this time. "Hundreds of undiscovered authors hoping to stand out from the mountain of paper dumped on my desk each day. Most of them should stick to writing as a hobby, but there's always a few jewels worth finding. In fact, that's how we acquire most of our authors."

"From the Slush Pile?" I ask. Given the name, and Jack's description it was hard to believe that enough viable works could be found this way to run the entire company.

"Bigger companies like to go to someone already hot and request something for a prepaid sum. It's almost impossible to get someone at Random House, or Harper's to read an unknown's work at all. They'll just let a story shuffle around the mail room for a few weeks before dumping it in the shredder without so much as a peek."

"So, you already need a popular reputation to be looked at by the popular companies?" I ask. "How do they find _any_ authors with that method?"

"By letting the little guys like us do most of the groundwork." Jack says. "We spend most of our time reading through sometimes a hundred query letters and partial manuscripts a day. I choose maybe one or two a month I want to see the rest of and decide if they're worth publishing. And then, if one of our picks gets national attention by winning a Hugo or landing on the Times Best Sellers list, they'll try and poach our authors by offering a cutthroat agent and an advance on their next work two or three times what we could."

My heart drops into my stomach at this revelation. The entire reason I majored in English Lit was to hopefully become an author someday. It was true I was nowhere near ready to draft the novel I'd been constructing in my head since starting at WSU, but if the larger companies weren't even looking at new authors, and smaller ones like SIP were overloaded with as much as hundreds of manuscripts a day, how could my little idea grab any attention? They never covered "query writing" in any of my classes on classical through contemporary British Literature.

"Don't worry," Jack smiles at me, as if he already knows what's going on in my head. "In today's market it's all about who you know, and already knowing the head editor of acquisitions for a publishing house is a great place to start from."

The weight in my chest lifts at his words. As I relax I catch a glimpse of the clock hanging on the far wall behind Jack. The long gold hands are positioned at 9 and 27.

"Oh!" I say with a start. "Your meeting with Carl starts in just 3 minutes."

"I better hurry then," Jack replies. "While I'm in the meeting keep an eye out for the mail delivery. Sort anything addressed to me, and set aside any manuscripts that arrive. Take down their information so we can get back to the authors." And without any further instruction Jack turns and bolts towards Carl's office.

Once he disappears behind a shelf stacked with old manuscripts, I settle down into the chair at my desk. At least if I'm sitting the chances I'll make a fool of myself once more drop considerably.

I begin to file through the papers Claire gave me. Most of it appears to be hand written notes on Jack's upcoming appointments. I find the little Project Manager icon on my desktop computer, and click the green and white P. A. calendar pops open, and I begin inputting the dates and times under June.

6/7 Tuesday:

9:00 AM to 12:00 PM: _Maybe Tomorrow_ 's launch advertising meeting

1:00 PM to 5:00 PM: Slush Pile

6/8 Wednesday:

10:00 AM to 12:00 PM: Review editor's notes on _Starlight_ with Courtney

1:00 PM to 5:00 PM: Slush Pile

6/9 Thursday:

9:00 AM to 10:00 AM: Contract negotiation with James Burn (CC: Johnson)

10:30 AM to 12:00 PM: Review editor's notes on _Creep_ with Courtney

1:00 PM to 5:00 PM: Slush Pile

6/10 Friday:

9:00 AM to 9:30 AM: Send final changes to Sara Frost for _Nightingale_

9:30 AM to 10:30 AM: Sales review for May

11:00 AM to 12:00 PM: Presentation of online media options

1:00 PM to 5:00 PM: Slush Pile

As I review the week's schedule I realize Jack wasn't exaggerating about how much time was spent wading through the Slush Pile. Even with four hours a day dedicated to only that, he and Courtney must be Olympic quality speed readers to skim nearly a hundred manuscripts between them a day. When did any real editing get done? It wouldn't surprise me in the least to hear he spent another 8 to 12 hours a day at home diligently marking up his chosen scripts.

At that thought I could almost see Jack sitting alone in a room, surrounded by papers covered in red ink. Eyes bloodshot from too much coffee, and too little sleep, intently focused on ensuring each word conveyed the correct meaning. There were far worse ways to spend one's night than obsessively reading over the next Hemingway or Hughes, I guess.

"Mail call!" Claire shouts, as she walks towards my desk arms full of letters and parcels.

"Can I help you?" I ask, moving to stand.

"Nah, I got it. Plus I saw how you handle transporting a file." She teases me, dropping the stack in front of me. "I've already separated Jack's mail for you. There's about ten queries here it looks like, and another twenty more, or so, at reception. If you start categorizing and organizing them I'll just grab the rest and set them on the side for you here."

"Thanks," I say, eyes wide as I look over the stack in front of me. I grab the one on top of the pile, and tear open the large yellow envelope. Once the manuscript slides out I notice the front page has the work's title, a summary, and the author's name and contact information in the top left corner. I begin typing up a quick sheet of the necessary information.

Author:

Title:

Genre:

Contact information:

Just as with the calendar, I input the information of each query. On several I pause to read their summary. There was an interesting one about a mystery surrounding an Australian primary school. The one describing a WWII tale from the perspective of a female french resistance character caught my eye. And then there were several generic teenage romance stories. Claire laughs when I mention the trend as she drops a new stack on my desk.

"I swear," she says, "the never ending flood of vampire romances is going to make Jack put a bullet in his head. He even put a note on our website that we would not be accepting any 'horror romance' in the hopes people would take the hint, but everyone out there wants to be the next Meyers."

"But don't people see the market is saturated? From what Jack's told me about how publishing houses are picking scripts I'd be afraid no one out there would even look at something in that genre."

"Eh," Claire shrugs. "Most people figure, 'if it ain't broke don't fix it'. No reason to try and reinvent the wheel when you find a formula that works. And to be honest there's nothing wrong with that."

"What do you mean? Shouldn't creating an original story be the goal of any author?"

"Not necessarily," Claire replies. "Most stories have been done in some way. New is a lot rarer than you think, and honestly most people like familiar stories. They're comforting. A new angle on an old tale is often a big seller. And isn't the real goal of any author to entertain their reader?"

It takes me a few moments to contemplate her sentiment, I'd never thought of writing like this. Claire wasn't wrong about plots being recycled throughout history. Just the amount of "twists" made to Romeo and Juliet alone could probably fill a library. The trillions made on a story about a boy who finds out he's a god, or a messiah, or a wizard who's destined to save the world are enough to keep the book industry afloat. But, is there really nothing new under the sun?

Before I can answer Claire, Jack appears from behind the bookshelf, his brows furrowed and face bright red.

"Claire," he snaps. "Call Mr. Fox and tell him we need to reschedule our phone appointment."

"I can do that-," I begin, but Jack cuts me off.

"No, Claire will do it. I need you to come with me."

I jump up from my seat, and follow him to his office. Did I do something wrong? Am I already being fired?

I stand in the doorway of his office, silently waiting for him to give me some kind of clue as to what's going on. He snatches several files from his desk and throws them in his briefcase.

"Entitled sonofa-" he mutters under his breath.

"I-is there something I can get for you, Jack?" I ask tentatively.

"Do you have a tape recorder on you?" he asks.

"No."

"Damn. Well grab a pad of paper and a pen. Ken may want someone to take notes."

"Notes for what?" I ask.

"The Grey Enterprises Holdings meeting." Jack answers. "The bastards have moved the meeting to 11:00 and Ken's assistant Hanna is out doing errands."

"Oh," I say, "why the change?"

"Just because they can." Jack says as he pushes past me. I grab my pad and pen, before following him through the office and out to a silver BMW parked by the curb. A tall man with jet black hair and matching peacoat, and an older man with nearly white hair are already standing next to it.

"This is Ana," Jack says to the older man. "She'll be acting as our joint assistant for this. Ana, this is Kenneth Adelson-CEO of SIP, and that is Carl Johnson." Jack points at the dark man, who waves but says nothing.

"It's very nice to meet you," I say holding out my hand to shake Ken's.

"I'm sure we'll get to know each other a little later," he says, not taking my hand. "But right now we're in a hurry."

Carl walks over to the driver side, opens the door, and slides behind the wheel. Jack opens the back door for me, as Ken slips into the passenger seat next to Carl. Jack's barely slammed the door shut behind him before the car whips out into the street and begins speeding down the road.

I remain quiet as the three men chatter about the meeting. Talking about the files on last year's revenue, the projections of several of our authors' new books based on the sales of their last ones, our 2011 budget for acquisitions, etc.

"We are a small company, Ken." Jack says. "We need to tread lightly here. Any sign of blood in the water and any negotiating power we have will be gone."

"Isn't that exactly why I'm bringing you along?" Ken says to Jack. "To be our liaison."

Jack bites his tongue. He looks as though he desperately wants to reply to this, but instead remains quiet as we pull up to the sidewalk in front of a towering skyscraper.

As I step out of the car, I see large silver letters spelling out "Grey House" over the building's entrance. The tower's endless rows of windows gleam in the few rays of sunlight breaking through the somber Seattle clouds. It's a far cry from our little red brick building of SIP.

"We're already late," Ken says, and he, Jack, and Carl all but run inside. I find it hard to keep up with them in my heels, keeping my head down, and focusing on my next step to avoid slipping on the smooth marble floor.

Jack holds the door open for me as I finally reach the elevator and hop in. The door closes, and I can feel the lift rising beneath my feet. Ken keeps looking at his watch every second, as though this will make us ascend faster, or perhaps turn time back just enough that we aren't nearly four minutes late for whatever it is we're here to meet about.

Finally a bright "ping" signals we've reached our destination. As the elevator doors open, and we file out, it's a little like stepping into a hospital. The floors, the walls, the chairs are all a brilliant white. It feels... sterile. The only variations in the monochrome decor are the odd use of grays and blacks dotting the reception area. Even the prim blonde woman at the desk is wearing a chic, grey skirt suit.

"Kenneth Adelson to see Mr. Grey." Ken tells the woman.

"Of course," she replies. "He's expecting you. Follow me please."

She leads us to a glass conference room. And through the windows I can see there are already two people sitting at the long white table in it's center. A woman with red hair appears to be looking through a file in front of her. The man sitting next to her is already watching us through those glass walls. His eyes remain fixed, unblinking, as we approach.

"Mr. Adelson to see you." The receptionist says.

"Thank you, Martina." The redheaded woman replies, finally looking up from her papers. She and her partner both stand. "Pleased to meet you, I am Ros Bailey. And, of course, this is-"

"Christian Grey," the man finishes, holding his hand out to shake Ken's. I'm taken aback at the realization of how young Mr. Grey actually is. He appears to not even be thirty, younger than Jack. Was this really the man who created Grey Enterprises Holdings?

"Morning," Ken says, taking Christian's hand in a firm grip. "These are my associates, Mr. Johnson, and I believe you've already met Mr. Hyde."

"Yes," Christian says with a slight grin. "It's been awhile, Jack."

"Christian." Jack nods, though I notice he does not return Christian's smile.

Suddenly, Christian's cool, slate colored eyes meet mine. "And you are?"

"U-uh, Anastasia Steele." I manage to babble out.

"Miss Steele will be taking a record of today's meeting for us." Ken says.

"Well, welcome," Christian says. "Please, have a seat."

We all grab a place at the table.

"Mr. Grey." Ken starts in before the shuffling of chairs even stops. "It's no secret that this company has been looking into acquiring Seattle Independent Publishing. I've been told you've been wanting to expand into the publishing industry for some time now, but I'm afraid SIP is not the place to start."

"Why is that, Mr. Adelson?" Christian asks, leaning back in his seat.

"Because, as CEO of SIP, I have no desire to sell to you, Mr. Grey."

Christian's stormy eyes seem to harden at Ken's statement. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck rise as I watch his gaze become more and more focused, like a predator honing in on it's prey.

"You may have no desire," Christian begins, "but you do have a need, Mr. Adelson. From what my partner, Ms. Bailey, has discovered SIP is on the verge of bankruptcy. Just six months away from insolvency, I believe."

"I can assure you that we are in danger of no such thing." Ken says indignantly. "Our corporate accountant Mr. Johnson can confirm."

"Yes," Carl pipes. "Though our profits have dropped 20% this quarter that is actually average for us. The fall quarter nearly always makes up for any losses we see during the summer months."

"That may be true from a seasonal perspective," Ros says, "but SIP's profits have been falling for five years straight. A 20% summer loss may be average to your yearly model, but it is still 20% of a smaller overall gross. And, from what I can see here, you appear to only have twelve authors actively working on projects."

"Twelve with contracts," Jack clarifies. "I oversee those authors personally, but I am currently considering offering contracts to 8 more myself."

"And how exactly will you do that, Mr. Hyde?" Ros asks. "Because between 12 other contracts, the average author getting a $15,000 sum, plus royalties, I can't see how you are possibly going to offer and fulfill 8 more contracts on… is this right, $200,000?"

"We are proud to be a small _independent_ company, ma'am." Ken says, emphasizing "independent."

"Small, independent, but dying." Christian says. "Mr. Adelson, I don't think you seem to understand your situation fully. SIP is a sinking ship. Both your acquisitions, and distribution numbers have shrunk. Your stock has fallen by nearly 36% since February. And I am already in a position to buy a controlling amount from your shareholders-including your COO Mr. Lucas, who I notice is absent from this meeting. SIP _will_ become a part of Grey Enterprises Holdings."

"Christian," Jack interjects. "There's no need to be hostile. Clearly we can reach a mutually benefic-"

"I'm sorry, Jack, but no." Christian cuts him off. "Mr. Adelson, I understand you probably thought that coming here with a hard-line stance would give you some leverage to end this on your own terms. That I would give you a few soft ball offers Miss Steele could record for your investors so you could possibly stir up some alternative interests, and even broker a better deal in a few weeks. But the fact is, you have no leverage. I've done my homework, Mr. Adelson. I know exactly what you don't have to bargain with. And, I know exactly who is not standing by you."

The room remains frozen for what seems like an eternity. My eyes dart between Ken and Christian, waiting for someone to move, or speak, or even break out in song, but both remain as stone.

"I think we have come to the end of negotiations." Ros finally says, breaking the spell and coming to a stand. "We will be in contact once our legal department can draw up the contracts for the acquisition. It was good to meet you, Mr. Adelson."

Ros puts her hand out for Ken, but instead of taking it he looks her up and down, face twisted in revulsion. Without adding another word Ken stands and stomps out of the conference room. Carl quickly jumps to follow him.

"Never a disappointment, Christian." Jack says as he rises from his own seat. Christian simply smirks back, and nods. "Let's go, Ana."

I scramble to get out of my seat, still dazed and confused about what's all just happened. Witnessing the possible demise of the company I work for was not exactly what I had expected for my first day on the job. Then, as I turn to follow Jack, it happens.

For the second time today I feel my legs fly out from underneath me. The new, black, polished heels I'd so carefully chosen to start my new professional life in slip on the glossy, trackless floor. The world around me slows as I watch my pen and pad hang in the air above me, and I attempt to brace myself for meeting the ground.

But I never do.

My pen and papers clatter to the floor. It takes me a second to realize I'm being held upright. I look up behind me to see the steely eyes of Christian Grey looking down at me, his hands gripping my shoulders.

"Are you alright, Miss Steele?" He asks, as my heart begins to race.

"U-uh, y-yes, Mr. Grey. T-thank you, " I reply, trying to right myself. His eyes fall on my shoes as I reclaim my balance.

"You may want to find a more practical pair. And, please call me Christian." He smiles once more but, somehow, as he grins at me, this time is different. It seems, almost, warm.

"Ana!" Jack calls, once more holding the elevator for me.

"Excuse me, Christian." I say.

"Anastasia." Christian replies with a nod, and I rush as fast as my heels will allow to the lift.

The doors are barely shut when Ken finally breaks his silence.

"That pompous little shit." He seethes.

"I warned you, Ken-" Jack tries to say, but Ken rounds on him.

"Warned me? What good are your warnings? I already knew the kid was a prick. Anyone who does business in the Tri-City area knows that. The whole reason you were brought here was to talk some sense into him since you actually know him beyond a board room. Bring out whatever humanity he even has in him so I could broker an arrangement. But you could barely get a word in at all! What good are you?"

A loud bang fills the tiny room, and I realize Jack has punched the wall. Ken's bombast deflates a bit at the hit.

"I already told you, Ken." Jack says, his voice shaking in anger. "Christian Grey is devoid of any 'humanity'. You can't appeal to the goodness of his heart, because he doesn't have one. It's not my fault you ignored me and allowed yourself to look like an ass by going in unprepared and under false assumptions. Best you can hope for now is that he was lying about the shareholders, and for the love of God get a hold of Lucas ASAP."

The car ride back to SIP is a quiet one. I try and pretend to be occupied by focusing on the few notes I had scribbled on the yellow paper, but the only things written are the names of everyone at the meeting.

SIP

Ken Adelson

Carl Johnson

Jack Hyde

GEH

Ros Bailey

Christian Grey

Christian Grey. Head of Grey Enterprises Holdings. A man seemingly younger than Jack, who has already built a business empire. The man looking to overtake SIP. A Man without a heart, and eyes the color of his name.

I'm aching to ask exactly how Jack knows Christian outside the boardroom, but every instinct I possess is screaming to leave it alone. At least for now. From how the meeting played out I have a feeling it won't be long before Christian Grey will become an unavoidable topic around the office.

Upon returning to SIP Claire greets us with her bright, toothy smile.

"Ana!" She says. "UPS has dropped off several more queries it looks like. I've set them on your desk for you."

"Thanks." I reply.

"That meeting went awfully fast, I figured you'd be gone past lunch." Claire continues. "Want to grab a bite before heading back to the grind?"

"No, thanks," I say. All the nervous energy from our "fast" meeting had my stomach in knots, and left me a little nauseous. "I'm not all that hungry. How about tomorrow?"

"It's a date."

I wander back to my desk, and slump down in my chair. Looking down to my feet I kick off the patent leather pumps, and wiggle my toes to help bring the feeling back into them.

She means well, but I really need to stop listening to Kate's fashion advice. Tomorrow I'll try something a bit more practical.


	2. Chapter 2

2

I yank the white, overstuffed cushions off our couch, but all I find hidden among its creases are a few pennies and what looks like old Pop-Tart crumbs. "God damnit, where are they?"

"What's the matter with you?" Kate says, as she walks into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee.

"I can't find my keys. So, I'm going to be late, and they'll fire me, then the only thing I'll have on my resume even remotely relating to my field will be a week of disappointment. Have you seen them anywhere?" I throw the cushions haphazardly back onto the sofa, and crawl on my hands and knees to look underneath it. Just dust bunnies.

"Calm down, Debbie Downer," Kate says, sipping her drink. "They aren't going to fire you for being 30 seconds late. Did you maybe leave them in a pocket?"

At her suggestion I dash to the coat rack and forage through my jacket pockets. Still nothing.

 _Maybe they're in my pants from yesterday? Or did I sit in another chair? Did they fall out of my pocket? No, I had used them to get into the apartment. Didn't I?_

"Besides," Kate continues as I scrutinize the room, hoping to spot some kind of clue. "From what you told me monday, it sounds like if you do get canned the rest of SIP won't be far behind you."

"Thanks, Kate," I groan. "That's very comforting."

"I'm just saying that job isn't a matter of life or death, Ana. And, anyway, I got the impression SIP wasn't exactly everything you'd hoped it would be in the first place."

She wasn't exactly wrong. I'd only been working at SIP for a week, but already I could understand why the small, independent, company was on GEH's chopping block.

Apparently "independent" was code for "not having enough actual staff." Though monday I'd been introduced as the "joint assistent" I hadn't expected that to become my fulltime job description. When I wasn't cataloguing Jack's new scripts, I was getting lunch for Carl, or running an errand for Liz, and Claire too (if it was on the way). In fact the only person in the whole company I didn't seem to be taking orders from was Ken, and that was because he hadn't returned to the office since the GEH meeting. Something I wasn't taking as a good sign for the future of SIP.

But it wasn't just that we were short staffed. Perhaps it was because the day I'd started was the day Jack and the rest realized SIP was officially on the decline, or maybe this was just a continuation of the behaviors that had led them to that immaculate boardroom with Mister Christian Grey, but though Ken had made an impassioned speech against letting GEH acquire SIP it seemed like the rest of the company had already given up.

For all Jack's talk about wading through the Slush Pile, and reading a hundred queries a day, I found that the hours he'd blocked out for it were mostly spent playing on his Blackberry and chatting with anyone who could offer the slightest distraction. So far Jack now knew I'd grown up in Montesano, that my favorite author was Thomas Hardy, my mother is currently on husband number four, and that I'm not a Breakfast Club fan. The multiple daily coffee runs had almost become a welcome excuse to avoid getting into yet another round of Twenty Questions when dropping off a new batch of stories.

Each night before heading home I'd do a quick sweep of his office, picking up the loose pages of manuscripts he'd left strewn about. A few would have notes scribbled in the margins, but most were blank. I hadn't seen a single mark on a page with a number on it higher than 3 the whole week.

There was something just a little soul crushing about getting what I thought was my dream job, right out of school even, and finding the whole thing crumbling around me. And the people who I thought shared my passion for a beautiful story couldn't be bothered to give the next Brontë more than a couple pages before tossing them aside to check whatever was trending on Google.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts.

"Yeah, well, reality never is quite what we hope it will be right?" I say to Kate. "I mean, is interning at _The Seattle Times_ everything you hoped it would be?"

Kate smirks and rolls her eyes. "Oh of course it is, Ana. Everything _always_ works out for me. I'm basically a real life, what's that lit term you use? Mary Sue."

Though her words are dripping with sarcasm I can't help but agree with her statement. Not only was Kate's family well off, but she was also one of the most beautiful people I'd ever known in real life-tall, and blonde, with bright green eyes that never failed to catch a possible suitor's attention-and she also seemed to always have a knack for getting her way. Whether it was school, or boys or hunting down a story for WSUV's newspaper, it never seemed like anything in the world didn't turn up Kate.

"Wait," Kate says, pulling something from our junk drawer, and raising her hand in the air. "Are these what you're looking for?" My keys jingle off the tip of her finger.

"Yes!" I cry, snatching them from Kate's hand.

"We really need a hook, or bowl, or something. Need to get properly organized now we're in the 'real world'." Kate says with a haughty tone.

"I'll be sure to do that soon as my boss hands me my pink slip." I say, rushing out the door.

Once arriving at SIP I burst through the doors, breathless, and sweating.

"I'm here!" I say, panting. "I'm here!"

"Yes you are," Claire laughs. "And with a whole five minutes to spare."

I look up at the clock behind her to see she's right. Breaking those few traffic laws on the way over here had paid off. Speeding is a victimless crime anyway, right?

The door behind me yawns open again, and I turn to face Jack. He grins broadly at me.

"Ana, perfect timing," he says. "I need you to do a few errands for me."

So it begins.

"Absolutely," I reply. "What do you need, Jack?"

He hands me a small piece of paper with a number on it. "I need you to go to the dry cleaner's and pick up my jacket. Then Courtney sent some charts to Kinko's to be printed off last night, I'll need you to pick them up. Don't worry, they've already been paid for. And then on your way back, could you pick up some coffee? I'm definitely going to need a pick me up after the meeting with James in… Oh, now." He finishes, glancing at his watch.

"I'm on it." I say, and before I can finish Jack slips past me, and back towards his office.

"Well," I sigh to Claire, "guess I'm off again. Do you want anything while I'm out?"

"Sure, get me a mocha," Claire replies. "Thanks, hon."

It takes me longer than I expect to get through everything. First when I stop by the dry cleaners it takes nearly thirty minutes to find Jack's coat. The squat, elderly woman running the counter twice brings me what appear to be women's suit jackets, one an alarming shade of fuchsia. I can almost see myself presenting it to Jack, and him claiming it would clash with his ginger colored hair.

"It's a _men'_ s jacket, for Jack Hyde." I say, trying to help. I have a feeling that the woman's coke-bottle glasses are more for show than utility. She probably can't make out many more details than the color, and I wasn't even sure what that was.

When she finally totters back, holding a brown men's jacket with a ticket number matching the one Jack gave me I'm still a bit skeptical it's actually the right one.

The Kinkos is half way across town, and when I arrive and ask for the SIP charts I learn they haven't even been printed yet. All I can do is wait as they upload Courtney's files and the whirring sound of the machine indicates it's begun transferring the images.

As I wait I pull out my new phone, a graduation gift from Ray. Something to make sure I'd keep in touch after moving to the big city. I swipe through the little apps and tap a large blue and white F. Facebook pops open and I begin to scroll through the news feed to pass the time.

 _How am I even friends with any of these people?_ I read through several posts from people who barely talked to me while in high school, but I now know that Sarah Marks is getting married, Ashley Spitz is pregnant, and Jason Taylor is taking a "gap year" in Europe to find himself before focusing on a career after getting a degree in Art History.

I notice José has made a post about his art exhibit tomorrow. He had been so excited about it when he told Kate and I. It's only a small set, but a local gallery is displaying several of his photos. I notice the little description he's written says "FREE FOOD AND DRINKS" in all caps.

 _Way to advertise the important part, José._ I smirk and I click "like" as a man calls my name, and hands over several freshly printed, and large poster boards. It takes some rearranging to set them in the back seat of my little powder blue Beetle without bending the pictures.

I can almost see a light at the end of the Tunnel of Errands when I walk through the door of Mugs only to see a line of people snaking around the small coffee shop.

"What would you like?" A petite girl with short red hair, and a black apron asks me when I finally reach the counter.

"Um, can I please get a double shot espresso, a mocha, and a croissant?" I say, rummaging through my purse for my wallet.

"And a cup of the house blend, one cream," a voice says behind me. A shiver runs down my spine, and my heart pounds hard against my chest. I know that voice. Looking over my shoulder I see Christian Grey's cool, ashen eyes once again staring down at me.

"That will be $23.65," the cashier says brightly.

"Oh, we're not-" I try to say, but before I can finish Christian sets several bills on the counter.

"Keep the change," he says.

"Thank you," I say hesitantly as we both step aside to wait for our orders.

"My pleasure, Miss Steele."

"So… what brings you to this end of town?" I ask.

"I had some work to do over here," he says.

"Looking to get in the coffee business?" I say with a nervous laugh. The words are barely out of my mouth before I regret saying them at all. Christian Grey strikes me as someone who doesn't take a joke very well, and considering he's likely to be the new owner of SIP any day now he's probably the last person I should be antagonizing.

But, to my surprise, he doesn't frown or scowl back at my comment. Instead his eyes seem to soften, like when he saved me from tripping over myself. As if he might actually be human under that frigid demeanor, and not just some corporate robot bent on world domination.

"Not today," he says, finally. "Though it appears you are."

"Ah, yes." I reply. "Well I'm coming to find that the fast paced world of publishing has a lot more to do with coffee runs than actually reading books."

"I see you've chosen more sensible shoes for all your running." He says, nodding at the black flats on my feet.

My cheeks burn at his comment.

"Well," I say, trying to ignore my obvious embarrassment. "I got some advice from a savvy businessman recently." Then it happens.

Christian Grey actually smiles.

Not the fixed "professional" smile I'd seen him flash Jack, or the smouldering smirk he sometimes wore in the pictures I'd found while Googling him at 12:00 am the last few nights. No, this smile extended to a slight crinkle around his fierce eyes. Could it possibly be genuine?

"Smart career move." He replies.

"Well," I tear my eyes away from his penetrative stare. "I don't know if I'd call scheduling days for actual editors and grabbing the office coffees a real 'career' just yet." I say.

"First job?"

"Yes-no, well, sort of." I babble. "I just graduated this spring, from WSUV. This is the first job I've had in publishing. Don't get me wrong, I really like SIP, but getting coffee and laundry isn't exactly what I pictured."

"Everyone has to start somewhere, Miss Steele."

"'How about you?" I ask. "I mean I'm sure a lot of work had to go into building a company as large as GEH, but I have a hard time picturing you as a corporate grunt."

"Trust me, Anastasia," his lips curl into the smug little half-smile I recognize from my late night internet stalking. "I've done my fair share of grunt work."

Something in the way his smile changes causes a slight spike in my adrenalin. I try to subtly glance at my hands to make sure they aren't shaking thanks to my nerves.

"Is that how you know Jack?" I continue, making sure my voice is calm and level. "From time spent working in the trenches?"

Christian straightens his back at the mention of Jack, and makes a humorless huff.

"No," he says. "I guess you could say we knew each other as kids. But, from what I remember, Jack was never one to put much actual work into anything."

I think back to Jack's barely marked scripts, and the image of him leaning back in his chair as he played on his phone. Seems like much hasn't changed since childhood.

One of the baristas calls out our order, and places the beverages on the bar. I set the cups meant for SIP in a cardboard drink tray before handing Christian his. His fingers brush over mine as he clasps the cup. Shocks of electricity run up my arm at his touch, and I bite my lip slightly to keep from gasping. My eyes flash back to his, but his expression never changes.

"Thank you, Anastasia." He says, taking the coffee.

"Cream, huh?" I reply stupidly.

I have a degree in English. I can practically recite _Jude the Obscure_ from memory. I had a short story published in WSUV's literary journal LandEscapes. And all I can mutter out now is, "cream, huh?" What is it about Christian Grey that seems to impair my cognitive abilities?

"Yes, why?" Christian asks, confused.

"I don't know," I chuckle slightly. "I would have pegged you for someone who takes their coffee black."

"You'll find I'm just full of surprises, Miss Steele."

"I don't doubt that at all, Mr. Grey. Now, If you'll excuse me, I need to get these to SIP while they're still hot. Thanks again." I say, picking up the tray and stepping past Christian. But I barely make it a foot before Christian grabs my arm, holding me in place.

"Please, I asked you to call me Christian." He says softly. My heart races and my breath catches in my throat. "Actually, Anastasia, I was wondering if I could take you for coffee some time. In a non-work-related capacity, I mean."

Words completely fail me this time as I try to process his request.

 _Did… did Christian Grey just ask me out? On, like, a date? A date with me, the SIP errand girl, and him, corporate vunderkind Christian Grey? The girl who can't even walk in heels? The 'cream, huh?' girl? The-_

"Anastasia?" Christian's voice snaps me back to reality.

 _Say something, Ana, anything!_

"I don't coffee!" I blurt out.

 _Nope, I shouldn't have said anything._

"I'm sorry?" Christian asks.

"I mean, I don't drink coffee," I clarify.

"Oh," he continues, eyeing the cups in my hand. "Well, how about dinner then? You can order whatever beverage you'd like."

I can hear the blood rushing in my ears as my heart beats painfully hard against my chest. _Calm down, Ana. Take a breath; get yourself together. Ray raised you better than this. You are a strong, independant woman damnit._

"I… can't." The thudding of my heart comes to a halt as I hear my own answer. I can't believe what I am saying.

Christian's statuesque face falls slightly. Apparently he can't believe it either.

"It's just that, Mr. Grey," I rush to explain." I work for SIP and you're looking to own it. And, as that may make you my boss in the near future, I think it is in both our best interests to keep our relationship... professional."

This time it's Christian who stands silent, seemingly unable to summon a response.

"It's just that," I continue to jabber, "I think that possibly getting involved with a coworker, my superior, wouldn't be a-"

"Smart career move." He cuts me off.

"Yeah." I stare down at my practical black flats, not wanting to meet his gaze.

We stand in awkward silence until a woman bumps into Christian on her way out the door we've been blocking. His grip on my arm slips as he tries to maintain his balance.

"I really do need to get these back to the office," I say, finally. "Good luck with that business you had today." And before he can stop me again, I slide out the door.

 _It was the right choice,_ I say to myself over and over as I stumble back into SIP, coffee in one hand, laundry in the other, and a stack of massive poster boards jammed under my arm.

Was it though? What if I just missed the biggest opportunity of my life? What if that had been my fairytale moment and I'd just turned down my Prince? Or, oh god, what if he buys the company and is upset I didn't go out with him? No one would believe I turned him down to serve coffee and babysit Jack's jackets. No, Christian Grey could have literally anyone in the world. He couldn't possibly actually be upset about me turning him down.

 _No. It was the right choice. The smart choice… yeah._

"Get held up?" Claire says as I set the coffees on her desk, and hand her the mocha.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." I reply, still thinking of Christian's hand on my arm. "Sorry everything took so long. Seems almost like everyone in the city had to get coffee at the exact moment I showed up."

"It's almost like everyone else has their own work and timetables to focus on." She chuckles.

"Right?" I reply. "Rude."

"Rude? Hope you're not talking about me." Jack quips as he joins us by Claire's desk. "Thank God, I've been on the verge of crashing all morning." He grabs his espresso and takes a swig like it's a shot of Jager.

"Sorry," I reply. "Just a lot of people out at the moment."

"Ahh," Jack says with a satisfied gulp. "Well, TGIF, right? Speaking of which, either of you have any plans for the weekend? A hot date perhaps, Ana?"

 _Not now, thanks to my corporate morals. Stupid morals._

"Alas, no." I say with a sigh.

"Really? I find it hard to believe a girl like you doesn't have a string of guys looking to show you a good time."

I stay quiet. I was never someone who attracted the attention of men like Kate could, or honestly even just the average woman, and I don't think Jack would be very pleased to hear the only man who'd asked me out in the last year was Christian Grey.

"Oh, leave her alone," Claire interjects. "We all know a sensible, literary minded girl like Ana would have too high of standards to be giving any two-bit Lotharios a second glance." She winks at me as she sips from her mocha.

 _Thats me, sensible. Sensibly dateless._

"Ha," I scoff at her, "I wish it was that noble, but my roommate says it's the fact I spend most of my time at home with a book. Apparently to meet men you actually have to leave the house occasionally."

"Well, that's a problem we can easily solve." Jack chimes. "How about we all go for drinks this weekend? Get you out in the real world. That's the problem with you 'Y-ers'... 'Millennials'… kids these days, you're all too focused on your imaginary and virtual worlds."

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing at Jack's comment. I may be just barely old enough to order a drink, but Jack was the one who spent the majority of his day on his phone.

"Actually, it just so happens I am planning on leaving my house this weekend." I say. "My friend José is showing at a gallery tomorrow."

"Well that sounds very prodigious," Jack remarks. "What gallery? And you're sure this art showing with José isn't a date?"

"It's at G. Gibson, on Roy Street. And, no. José is just a friend. We went to college together. He's a photographer. Though, to be honest I'm not sure what his set is going to involve. He's been very secretive about it."

"Artists," Jack rolls his eyes. "They're all so temperamental about their work. Doesn't matter if their medium is photos, paint or pen, they always have to make things harder than they need to be. They always like to say the struggle makes for better work, I say their perfectionist egos just make more work for people like me. I can't tell you how many fights I've had with authors who are late on deadlines, and then refuse to let me see what they at least do have because 'it's not ready'. Seriously, never date one."

Jack takes another swig of his espresso, as if it's bitter taste might wash away the even harsher taste of frustration with his work.

"That's right, Ana," Claire pipes up, "stick to the always stable, non-creatives. Those type of men are _never_ temperamental."

Claire shoots me a glance, eyebrows raised, from over her cup. Too busy downing the last of his own drink, Jack seems to miss the irony in her statement.

"Well," Jack continues after emptying his cup. "I, unfortunately, think it's time to get back to the grindstone. Do some actual work."

"Speaking of which," Claire says to me, "I've set the stack of this morning's queries on your desk."

"Better get on that," Jack grins. "I can hardly do my work waiting on you to finish yours."

"Of course." I say.

"Let's see some hustle." He says, as he grabs my croissant, takes a bite and heads back towards his office. My stomach audibly rumbles as I watch my breakfast round the corner.

I take a deep breath.

 _I love my job. I love my job. Everyone has to start somewhere. I love my job._

Making my way back to my desk, I sit down and start opening and cataloguing the new scripts piled on it.

My stomach loudly growls once more. Ignoring it as best as I can, I work as fast as possible to input the relevant data into the work sheet. It's already nearly noon, once I finish this it won't be long before I'm asked to get lunch for someone, or at least more coffee. I can make it until then. Just focus on the work.

 _Food is for the weak. Got to show I have hustle._ _Everyone starts somewhere. This is completely worth turning down Christian Grey._

Completely, totally, worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

3

"That can't be what you're wearing," Kate groans as I walk into the living room.

"Why," I ask. "What's wrong with it?" I glance down at my jeans to check if maybe they had a rip, or a stain.

"It's an art exhibition, Ana. A chance to get dressed to the nines. Enjoy some glitz and glam. You haven't even tried to get gussied up."

It was true that compared to Kate's single-sleeved little black dress, silver clutch, and the same black pumps she had lent me my first day at SIP, my ensemble was demure.

"What are you talking about? I'm wearing a blazer."

"Yeah," Kate scoffs, "over a Black Keys T-shirt, and paired with sneakers. Classy."

"Oh, come on," I laugh. "Classy? Kate, this is a show for a guy we've seen puke green beer all over himself because he 'raged' too hard on St. Patrick's Day micro brew. It's not exactly an event for Seattle's High Society."

"You can take the hipster out of Portland, but-actually, you just can't be a hipster in Seattle. They're _so_ 2010."

"How dare you," I cry with mock outrage. "I am simply casually quirky. Perfect for the West Coast art crowed."

"Sure," Kate rolls her eyes. "But just answer me one question first."

"What?"

"If a tree falls in the woods and nobody's around to hear it, is it still too mainstream?"

"Hardy-har-har," I reply, sticking my tongue out at her.

"I'm just saying," Kate lays her hands on my shoulders. "We still have some time, I could run and grab you something from my closet. I have a blue dress that'd go with your eyes."

I glance down at the shoes on Kate's feet and am reminded about the last time I took her well meaning fashion advice. A nice jacket with jeans wasn't exactly couture, but it would be a much classier look than losing my balance and crashing into someone's artwork-regardless of what designer is on that dress' label.

"Kate, please, I'm not a doll."

"Not a good one, anyway." Kate huffs. "I never got such back sass from any of my American Girls."

"And, while I'm sure all of their outfits were always on-point, I really just need a night where I can relax, and be comfortable."

"Fine, fine," Kate says with resignation. "But only because you're my best friend, and your dreams are all falling apart around you." Her long, manicured finger taps the tip of my nose.

"Thanks," I snort.

Maybe it was a bit of an exaggeration to say _all_ of my dreams were falling apart around me, but this week had definitely taken a blow to my morale. So tonight Kate, José and I were going to drink some wine, enjoy beautiful pictures, and have the kind of night we'd always talked about while at school. Worrying about work, men, or the possibility of never actually achieving any of my personal goals could wait.

When we arrive at the gallery there's already a crowd of people milling through the glass doors. To my relief I notice I'm hardly the only one in jeans. As we filter in alongside the others I see José talking to a few of the more well dressed attendees.

"Why is that the world famous photographer José Rodriguez?" Kate calls out.

"Hey!" José waves back as he finally spots us.

"Well, well, this is all quite impressive." Kate says, walking up and kissing José on the cheek. "You could totally quit your day job."

"I'm not so sure about that just yet," José chuckles. "But, I'm not gonna lie, this is all pretty cool."

"I'll say. Who were those important looking people you were talking with?" I ask.

"Oh, that's Jason, and Camille," he points to a tall man with dark hair and a fair looking woman. "They're the other two showing tonight. And that's Janet" He says, nodding toward a woman in a flowing ivory dress. She was now fervidly discussing a large panoramic of the Sound with a young man who had been speaking with José. "She's the gallery curator."

"That's great news for the gallery," Kate says. "She clearly has excellent taste."

"You're going to get diabetes from that excessive sugar coating." José cocks an eyebrow.

"Actually," Kate continues, "I'm about ready to pass out from a lack of sugar. I was promised there would be food and drinks."

"There's a table set up by the back wall," he says. "You guys have at it while I go play 'bigshot' and try and convince some of these collectors to pay for my rent this month. Oh, and don't forget, there's some photos up on the second floor to check out. I think you'll like those in particular, Ana."

José sets off to rejoin Janet while we make our way back to the food. The gallery is a maze of false walls and patrons we weave through to find the table. Kate dives right into a mountain of shrimp as I divert to the attendant standing next to the table, serving drinks.

"Can I get a glass of white wine?" I ask her, holding out my ID for her to check.

The woman's emerald eyes flit from the licence to myself. I can see the shadow of doubt behind them as she evaluates the card's authenticity. Everyone from my mother to Kate has told me that I'll grow to appreciate my naturally youthful appearance as I get older, but as of now I'm mostly just irritated by it. More than once I've had to have Kate confirm my age to a skeptical bartender, and I'm in no mood to start my night off having to defend my right to a drink. Once convinced the disheveled girl in the picture is the same slightly less disheveled one standing before her the attendant pours me a glass.

"Oh my god, Ana. You need to try these." Kate says, holding a large shrimp under my nose.

"Eh, I think I'm going to stick to a liquid diet tonight." I reply, raising my glass.

"Suit yourself," she shrugs. "But you're missing out."

"I'm sure it's a spread fit for royalty." I laugh.

"I'll say," Kate continues. "I mean, look who's here. There's Carl Davis, he does an arts and leisure column for The Seattle Weekly. Allen Jackson in the corner there is a big art dealer in the area. My dad even uses him to scout out new, promising talent. And, unless my eyes deceive me, it looks like Ms. Janet is talking to Seattle's new IT Boy, Christian Grey. And you said this wouldn't be a High Society event." She nudges me with her elbow.

"Who?" I gasp, nearly choking on my sip of wine. Glancing back to Janet I see her conversing with none other than Christian Grey. He looks impeccable as ever in one of his dark, exquisitely tailored suits. Looking down at the worn Converse on my own feet I suddenly feel underdressed. Kate was right, I should have worn that blue dress.

"Have you not heard about Grey?" Kate laughs with surprise. "He's like the new Bill Gates. A young billionaire with a philanthropic side, but, let's be honest, way hotter. He's my 'white whale'."

"Your 'white whale'?" I ask, trying to pull myself together.

"The only interview I wasn't able to get for the school paper." She clarifies. "He was supposed to do the commencement speech at our graduation, and I was going to do a piece on him. You know, find the human backstory behind that pretty face. But about a month before graduation he pulled out, no explanation. Weeks of hounding his PR department wasted."

"Hmmm, and you don't suspect maybe the incessant badgering had anything to do with his cancelation?"

"I don't know what you're implying." Kate says, popping another shrimp in her mouth. "I was only doing my job."

"Harassment?"

"Journalists don't harass, we uncover the truth." Kate replies, grinning broadly.

"Sure." I roll my eyes while taking another sip of my drink. "What's he doing here though?"

"Buying art, I'd guess." Kate replies. "Why?"

I take a large swig of my wine to buy some time before answering. Though I'd told Kate

about the meeting on Monday, I'd neglected to tell her who exactly was attempting to buy SIP. And I'd completely skipped letting her know about our chance meeting at the coffee shop. She would have berated me the whole night if she'd heard I'd turned down a date-even if it was with my potential boss.

"It just seems…" I continue, trying to think of a passable explanation. "That something like this wouldn't even show up on his radar."

"Don't be too surprised. Most great artists made it big because someone like Grey took an interest in a nobody. Most just like the hunt, and getting credit for taking that nobody and making them a somebody. Classic power trip."

At her words I recall the look in Christian's eyes as we sat in that boardroom. The way they'd hardened while staring us down across the table. How he'd immediately destroyed any hope Ken and Carl may have had about saving SIP. How the "negotiations" had really been nothing more than a statement-of-intent that none of us had any real say in. If there was any way to describe Christian Grey it would be "a walking power trip."

"Well," I say, clearing my throat. My eyes dart around the room, hoping to find some place to hide before Christian sees me. "Should we check out those photos upstairs José mentioned?"

"You go ahead, I'm not quite finished fueling up for the night." Kate answers, handing her own ID to the drink attendant. "Red, please."

Thankful Kate didn't mind being left behind, I flee to the safety of the second floor. But my elation at avoiding yet another awkwardly stressful moment this week is short lived. As I ascend the staircase several black and white photos come into view. I stop at the top to see half a dozen images of myself staring back at me.

 _Oh. My. God._

"I wasn't aware you moonlit as a professional model." A voice says, and I turn to see Jack strolling towards me, down a hallway of mes.

 _This is like a middle school nightmare._ Trapped between my boss, my possible bigger boss, with my face plastered everywhere. If I look back down at my clothes will I suddenly realize I'm naked too?

"Ha-ha," I force a laugh, trying to brush it all off. "In all honesty, I wasn't aware of it either."

"I thought you were friends with the photographer?" He asks.

"Yeah," I sigh. "All I was told was that there were some pictures up here I would supposedly 'particularly' like."

"Uh, huh." Jack says. His eyes lock onto mine. "And I take it you don't?"

No, in all honesty. I have always hated my appearance. From my gangly frame, to my bulbous eyes, and my hair, which never seemed to cooperate-no matter how much product Kate used to try and tame it. José's known me for years, how could he possibly think I would like this?

"Just surprised." I reply. Jack looks back at a large image of me towering over us.

"Well, you should be flattered."

"Excuse me?"

"It's not every girl who can inspire an artist." Jack says, gazing at the large gray scale of my face caught mid laughter. "And isn't that 'the dream'? To be loved and immortalized?"

It had never been my dream, at least not like this. I had hoped that I would be loved and immortalized for my own art. For the wonderful characters, and beautiful prose I might write. To be more of a J.K. Rowling than a Kim Kardashian.

"And," Jack continues, "this is the photographer 'friend' who you're sure is in no way a 'boyfriend'?"

"Yeah…" The hairs on the back of my neck and shoulders prickle at his question.

"You may want to tell him that."

"So, what are you doing here?" I ask, trying to change the subject. All I'd had tonight was my glass of wine, and this entire line of conversation was beginning to make my stomach turn.

"Well, you mentioned it yesterday so I thought I'd take a look. It's been awhile since I went to something like this. Plus," he raises the drink in his hand, gesturing to my own. "We never did settle on having drinks this weekend."

"Ah, yes," I reply, raising my own glass.

"To your first week." Jack says. "How exactly are you enjoying SIP?"

"It's great." I answer abruptly.

"But…"

Where to begin? Probably where it would least likely leave me unemployed.

"Just an odd start I guess. Kind of threw me off."

"Yeah," Jack smirks and rolls his eyes. "Well, take it as a life lesson. You never do know what the world's gonna throw at you. Some days you just have to learn how to perform triage on the fly."

"Sure hope not," I laugh slightly, "I get woosey around a paper cut."

"You may be in the wrong line of work." Jack winks. "The red left on an editor's manuscript is rarely just from his own pen's cruel strokes. The pages usually get a few good jabs in too."

 _Huh, perhaps that's why Jack seemed to limit his battles to about three pages a day at the office?_

"But hopefully things will settle down enough in the next week or so for you to find your rhythm." Jack continues. "Even with this whole corporate takeover business hopefully we won't be seeing much more of the company from GEH."

"You'd think," I mutter, glancing over the ledge beside us to the attendees below.

"What?" Jack asks, catching my comment.

 _Damn it._ Maybe I should have forwarded that chain letter to ten friends in 2007, because clearly I am actually cursed.

He leans over the ledge and follows my gaze to see Christian now speaking to José among the thrall of gallery-goers.

"Christ," Jack sneers, "is nothing safe from Christian Grey?"

I move beside him and look down to watch as José appears to be pitching Christian a piece I can't see. Talk about showing some hustle.

Jack's brow is furrowed as he stares down at Christian, and my stomach begins to turn once more as I fight the nerves to ask what I've been wondering since Monday.

"So… I-I take it there's no love lost between you and Mr. Grey?" I finally sputter out awkwardly. _Smooth, Ana._

His eyes still trained on Christian, Jack's lips purse in disgust at the question before huffing.

"Grey would have to be capable of feeling something like love for any to be lost. So, no, can't say there's anything there. Why? You interested?"

His look of disgust is suddenly replaced with a wolfish grin as Jack turns to me. An uncomfortable shiver runs down my spine as Jack wiggles his brows playfully up and down.

"I don't date potential co-workers." I reply, downing the final drops of my wine.

"Sensible." Jack nods. "But a bit of a shame. Could've had a woman on the inside, so to speak."

"What do you mean?" I ask. Jack had just now basically called Christian heartless, he couldn't possibly actually want me to date the man?

"I saw how he looked at you on Monday."

"Like what?"

"Like he wants you." Jack finishes bluntly.

I giggle nervously and look back to José to avoid Jack's knowing azure eyes.

"Christian Grey could have anyone." I say in my most convincing tone.

"Yeah," Jack continues. "But, at least on Monday, he wanted you. And the thing I hate most about that son-of-a-bitch is he generally gets what he wants."

"So, what exactly are you saying? You don't like Christian Grey, but you think I'm, what? Destined to go out with him?" Trying to dissect Jack's logic around this conversation was like trying to find a meaningful plot in one of my high school fanfictions, frustrating and mostly fruitless.

"No, no." Jack waves his hands. "It's just… If you were in any other circumstance I'd honestly tell you to just run as far, and as fast from Christian Grey as possible. The guy is a predator, Ana. Don't for a single second let that smug face lull you into a false sense of security. He's someone who will always go right for the throat when he sees the opportunity."

"But…" I say hesitantly, wondering how exactly my circumstance shouldn't also have me fleeing for the hills after that warning.

"But, you already know he wants you. And, well…" Jack turns back, and gestures to the wall with half a dozen images of myself looking over us. "Maybe someone who wields this kind of influence, unknowingly... the prey could set a trap for the predator."

I stare blankly at Jack, still confused.

"Ha! That's what I think I like so much about you, Ana." Jack scoffs. "You truly are wide-eyed innocent, aren't you? Forget it. Too much booze, and revenge fantasies have me rambling about corporate intrigue and turning naïve young women into a femme fatale. I think that's my cue to head out." Jack takes a final swig of his drink. He nods and raises the glass to me before heading down the stairs. "I'll see you on Monday."

I wave as he leaves, but stay on the second floor to people watch for a few more minutes. More patrons start to come up the stairs. A few notice me, and I see them point to the pictures and then to me standing stiffly next to them. After my eyes make a pass over the room below and I no longer see Christian among the crowed I decide to brave the first floor once more.

"Ana!" Kate calls to me the second I make landfall. She's chatting with an attractive, blond man, who I notice already has his arm around her waist. "Have you been upstairs this whole time? I have to introduce you to-"

"I think I'm going to head out." I cut her off.

"What? Why?" Her wide grin falls into a pout.

"I'm not feeling well." I reply. "I think I just need to go home and sleep."

"What's really wrong?" Kate says, detangling herself from tonight's treat and pulling me aside.

"I'll tell you about it later," I sigh. "But I just need to go home and veg."

"Okay… Can you drive?" She asks. "I know you've only had your 'liquid dinner'."

I laugh. For as much of a reputation of being a "party girl" Kate had, she was actually quite the mom-friend at times.

"I'm completely, fine." I say. "Do you want to come, or can you get a ride later?"

Kate smiles slyly at the blond waiting for her return, "I'll be fine."

As I walk into my empty apartment, I flick on the light, kick off my shoes, make a beeline to the kitchen and break out an unopened bottle of wine. I gulp down a full glass in under a minute and immediately pour myself another.

Tonight was supposed to be about having fun and blowing off steam, but somehow it had been more stressful than the whole rest of the week combined. Glass two is finished in two swigs; I pour myself a third. I already start to feel a tingling in my lips and fingertips.

I still can't believe José would use those pictures of me without even asking, let alone think I'd like them. Didn't I have to sign some kind of release, or consent form? And, oh god, Jack saw them! There was no way everyone at SIP wouldn't know about my "modeling debut" by lunch on Monday.

I groan and bury my face into the palms of my hands.

I should have just said "yes" to that date with Christian. But no, of course not. _That_ wouldn't have been smart, or proper. No one would ever take the girl who dated the boss seriously. Like they were going to ever take me seriously now, after hearing whatever convoluted story about my peddling pictures on the side Jack was sure to be telling while he was avoiding reading through Monday's slush pile.

"You should feel should be flattered… It's not every girl who can inspire an artist." Jack's voice rings in my mind as I sip my wine.

 _What is he even talking about?_ I grab the glass and stumble towards the bathroom. I nearly slip, but am luckily caught by the wall.

"I have no patience for your bullshit tonight, Gravity!" I shout at the polished hardwood. It offers no retort. _Punk_.

Once regaining my balance I shuffle into the bathroom and turn on the light. I set my wine down by the sink and stare into the mirror. A large pair of blue, slightly blood shot eyes stare back at me.

I slowly turn my face to the left, and then the right, surveying my profiles. I poke and prod my nose, pushing it up at the tip as though I'm a citizen of Whoville. The slight flushing caused as the alcohol takes hold only adds to the oddly Christmasy effect.

 _I don't get it_. I flash a bunch of derpy smiles, and toothy grins, and even try a few attempts at some Cover Girlesque poses, but find nothing exactly photogenic in my appearance. I run my hand through my unkempt hair, and bit my slightly chapped lips. What exactly could José possibly find so "inspiring"?

Jack had said I was wielding some kind of influence I didn't even know about, but that must have just been drunken rambling. It's not like I was some kind of secret succubus. I would have done a _lot_ better in high school and college if that was the case. If anything, Kate was the one with the date-craft.

But, Jack had been right. Once.

"He wanted you."

Christian asking me out at the coffee shop had happened. So at least by yesterday, Christian Grey had wanted to take me to dinner. For _some_ reason.

My stomach clenches as a realization hits me. Christian was at the show. Had _he_ seen the pictures? I'd managed to avoid running into him personally, but who knows how much longer he'd been there? How much of the show he'd seen before he left? I hadn't actually seen him leave. Could I have missed him while he headed past me, up the stairs? Of course he saw it. If there was one thing I learned about Christian Grey from our brief business liaison, he was not one to overlook a single detail.

 _Great._ Even if my initial rejection of him hadn't completely killed my chances, there was no way he would be interested in me after seeing that ridiculous display. He must think I'm some kind of narcissist.

 _Maybe I am,_ I think as I look at my reflection in the mirror.

I sigh, as I resign myself to the reality that I will simply not have a fairytale ending.

It's probably for the best. It would be impossible to keep work and Christian separate, especially with Jack in the mix. And it didn't sound like Jack had the purest intentions for a relationship between Christian and myself.

"The guy is a predator." Jack's words repeat in the back of my mind. All I'd been able to learn about his and Christian's shared history was that they had know each other as children, but with the vitriol Jack spoke about Christian I had to believe their conflict ran deeper than a stolen Tonka Truck.

I know he's not entirely wrong. Christian is a predator. It's why he's good at business. It's why he knew when to strike at SIP, when we were weak and with no other options. But, it's not exactly like Jack is so innocent either.

"...the prey could set a trap for the predator." Mulling over the words, I still don't quite understand what he was getting at. Was Jack suggesting I somehow, what, entrap Christian? By what? Flirting? I couldn't even finish a sentence around him. And if so, to what end? Was it for some personal grudge, or did he mean a "woman on the inside" for SIP? What kind of "trap" could I even lure him into?

I can't help but laugh at the ludicrousness of the idea. My complete lack of amorous experience, and inability to even hold a coherent conversation with Christian Grey would make me the absolute worst femme fatale to try and entrap him.

 _But… still._

I flip my hair, and tousle it to the side in a style Kate calls "sex-hair." I try to emulate the half hooded "bedroom-eyes" every celebrity does for vanity fair, but I'm pretty sure in my inebriated state it's just coming out cross-eyed. I clear my throat and put on my most sultry tone. The one I had perfected to voice the bustiest character's from Jessica's Mother's harlequin romance novels when we had sleepovers.

"I'll take that drink now, Mr. Grey. Rawr!" I growl and claw at my reflection, baring my teeth like a lioness. I immediately burst out laughing, unable to stop myself from drunkenly snorting.

 _So sexy._

I gulp down the rest of my wine, flip off the light, and head to bed.


End file.
